


In Paris

by ShirleyCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Public Display of Affection, bottomlock, holiday sex, top!John, with fanart illustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are on a romantic holiday in France, but need to settle something before they are ready to go sightseeing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Paris

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to my wonderful beta's [Shirelockhomes](http://shirelockhomes.tumblr.com) and [Mydogwatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/).
> 
> Scroll down to see some fantastic (NSFW) fanart by [Clarice82](http://clarice82.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart), drawn especially for this story!
> 
>  
> 
> _Update Nov 2014: I wrote this fic before I became aware that one of the important rules of writing is to stick to one POV throughout a scene... :D You won't see this mistake in my later fics, I promise. ;)_

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were walking down the Rue de Rivoli, towards one of the world’s most renowned art museums, The Louvre, in Paris.  
For once, they were not travelling for a case. They were on holiday. John had managed to blackmail Sherlock into it by threatening to no longer have sex with him if he wouldn’t come.

Or at least, so John thought.

The truth was, however, that Sherlock, who had never been as relaxed and cheerful as he was now that he and John were more than friends, had thought he might actually enjoy going on a holiday, with John that is.  
It was at least worth finding out.  
Although it must be admitted, that perhaps John’s threat might have helped to remove his last doubts.

The sun was standing low and cast its slowly dwindling light through the branches of the trees, which were starting to lose their first leaves.

The Baker Street boys had arrived at CDG Airport just a few hours earlier, dropped their bags off in their hotel room and were now headed for the huge glass pyramid that was the gate to art heaven. They were walking on the Parisian pavement at a leisurely pace, content about having a change of scene in Europe’s most romantic capital.

They never held hands in public, because usually they were either trying to keep a low profile while shadowing some criminals, or actually chasing them down in the streets of London. They didn’t often go out for purposes not case-related.  
But now they found themselves in an unfamiliar city, soaking up the scents and sights of a different culture, feeling relaxed and romantic (it was, after all, their first holiday together) and both considered reaching for the other one’s hand. When the back of Sherlock’s fingers accidentally brushed against John’s, John quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it, smiling up at his handsome new lover.  
Sherlock smiled back, then stopped in his tracks and pulled John towards him into a kiss. This was Paris, after all, and he couldn’t care less what other people thought anyway. It was in fact the perfect place for a proper French kiss, as far as he was concerned.

John was taken by surprise, but a very pleasant surprise at that. He loved it when Sherlock took the initiative and the fact that he was now doing it in public sent butterflies fluttering all over his insides. It made him want to devour Sherlock on the spot.

They kissed long and elaborately, only barely managing not to shock passers-by.

When they looked at each other again, both smirking, their faces still only inches apart, John mouthed “I love you”. Sherlock mouthed back “I know” and was about to walk on, but in a swift movement John firmly grabbed his waist with both hands and turned Sherlock back towards him.

“Sherlock, I can’t do this,” he spoke softly through gritted teeth, his mouth close to Sherlock’s jawline, his breath hot on the detective’s skin.

Sherlock looked slightly puzzled as John continued: “I can’t go to the bloody Louvre like… this. I’m horny as hell.” His voice dropped to an insistent whisper. “I _need_ to fuck you. Right. Now.”

Sherlock’s smirk slowly returned to his face as his tongue casually touched his upper lip. He squinted at the horizon and asked innocently: “What do you suggest we do?”  
The bastard seemed rather amused.

John nervously looked around him, feeling awkward, and replied: “Take a cab back to the hotel. Pay the cabby double to make it fast.”

They were both grinning like a couple of teenagers when Sherlock stepped towards the edge of the pavement to hail a cab.  
Once they were in one, they both stared intently out their own window, afraid of what might happen if they so much as looked at each other.

* * * * *

Back at the hotel, they haphazardly stumbled up the stairs, smiling and nodding innocuously at the receptionist, who watched them over her reading glasses and raised both her eyebrows at their hasty return.  
When they finally got to their floor, John let Sherlock open their hotel room door, as he thought he wouldn’t be able to muster the coordination himself.

Once the door opened, Sherlock took a few strides inside and then leaned his back against the wall, panting slightly, his mouth half open and his head tilted backwards, looking at John from the corner of his eye as John hurriedly hung up his coat and closed the door behind him.

Two seconds later, John was pressing his body against Sherlock’s and kissing him passionately, pushing him even more firmly against the wall.

“God, I want you so badly, you have no idea,” he breathed, disengaging his mouth by about a millimeter from Sherlock’s. “Sorry about the Louvre.”

“The Louvre can wait. And yes, I’m getting an idea…” Sherlock couldn’t keep from remarking with a cheeky smile.

As John’s mouth found Sherlock’s neck and scraped his teeth over bare skin, his hands, which had been holding Sherlock’s sides, started to slide down towards his hips.

“Unbutton your shirt,” John hissed while unfastening Sherlock’s trousers, “unless you want to see buttons flying across the room as I rip it from your body.”

Sherlock quickly did as told, a smug grin on his face.  
He was still all control and coordination, although by now he was definitely looking forward to the next half hour as much as John was, possibly even more.

John quickly pulled Sherlock’s trousers and pants down. He liked Sherlock naked, even though both knew that John wasn’t going to bother taking off his own clothes.  
Sherlock still had three buttons of his shirt to go when John suddenly dropped to his knees and hungrily took Sherlock’s cock in his mouth. This elicited a gasp and then a long, soft moan from Sherlock, his head thrown back in ecstasy and his hands briefly stopping what they were doing.

But it was only a ten-second blowjob. John wanted something else. He hastily untied Sherlock’s shoe laces so Sherlock could kick off his bespoke Italian shoes, which he did, and then practically _threw_ Sherlock onto the bed - once he’d finally taken the bloody shirt off.  
John wasted no time climbing on top of him.

Sherlock loved John like this: a raving machine of lust, longing and aching for _him_. He hungrily watched John’s muscled body, his face, his eyes that were full of heat.  
He reclined on the goose-down pillows as John quickly leaned over to one side of the bed to find the lube tucked into the front pocket of his weekend bag. Boy, was he glad he’d put it there, with such easy access.  
John hastily opened his fly and applied the lube. Sherlock was patiently looking up at him, wild curls framing an eager face, biting his lower lip in anticipation. His heels were almost touching his bottom and his knees were pointing outwards.  
The sight of his partner lying there utterly relaxed and so ready for him stopped John’s breath for a second. How he adored this man, this strange, self-confident, arrogant, brilliant git of a beautiful lover.  
John slowly bent over Sherlock’s lean body and peppered his torso with loving kisses, biting and licking as he went along. By now, he was impossibly hard, but once they were at the point of almost doing it, John always found he could stall for time and heighten the suspense.

He loved to taste Sherlock's skin and to see his subtle reactions to each kiss on his body - a slight alteration in breathing, an expressive noise, a suppressed muscle twitch.

John’s mouth was on his way to Sherlock’s left nipple when he was surprised by Sherlock’s deadpan voice: “John”.

John looked up at Sherlock, whose face had a virtually neutral expression.

[](http://clarice82.tumblr.com/post/78665235004/full-view-plz-johnlock-take-me-now-nsfw)

“Take me. _Now_.”

This sent a spark through John’s insides and annulled all ability of restraint. A fierce energy flowed through him as he swiftly pushed Sherlock’s knees towards his shoulders and carefully but eagerly entered him.

“Oh Jesus,” John panted.

Sherlock opened his mouth without making a sound, as their eyes locked in a dark gaze which seemed to drown the universe. Their movements were like the tide of the ocean, flowing in harmony, while soft grunting noises expressed the primordial state of being they had slipped into: there was only their passion and love, nothing else in their consciousness. They were _one_ in the simultaneous sensation of blood rushing, skin flushing and vision narrowing down to only each other.

The rhythm of Sherlock’s breathing matched John’s movements, as he let out quiet gasps every time John flexed his gorgeous buttocks to steadily thrust his hips forward and fill Sherlock with the wonderful feeling of giddiness that was John’s cock massaging his prostate.

John was biting his lip in delight. His rhythm was gradually picking up speed and little sweat beads appeared on his biceps.  
Sherlock could feel a passionate pressure building up inside him like an earthquake gradually rumbling towards the surface. He wanted more, more of John inside him, faster, deeper, and he did everything he could from his position to push upwards, his fists desperately clutching the mattress below him. Anything to release the natural drug that was on the verge of washing over him, that would drown out the world around him until there was nothing left but this blissful feeling of safely tumbling backwards into space in John’s arms.

Sherlock didn’t even try to restrain himself as he finally cried “OH! … GOD! … YES! … YES! … YES!” at the top of his baritone voice.  
John followed soon after, Sherlock’s tightness becoming too much for him, as he grunted even less eloquently and a series of random noises escaped his throat, moments before collapsing on top of Sherlock in a messy heap of sweat and utter contentment.

It took them a few minutes to regain normal consciousness.

“That was amazing,” John said eventually, lifting his head from Sherlock’s sweaty shoulder, the happiest of smiles on his face.

“It was alright,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly, at which John grabbed one of the lace-edged cushions and smashed it on his lover’s head, resulting in stifled giggles from underneath.

“Well. You make me wonder what you’d sound like if you _really_ enjoyed it,” John said thoughtfully, frowning at the wall.

Sherlock snickered.  
“Well, at least now that Paris knows we’re here, we can finally get to know Paris. Shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> The illustration was made by [Clarice82](http://clarice82.tumblr.com/) specifically for this fic, commissioned by me. :)  
> [Click here to see more of Clarice's beautiful Sherlock fanart.](http://clarice82.tumblr.com/tagged/fanart)
> 
> For an elaborate collection of Johnlock fanart by various artists see [my Tumblr archive](http://www.prettyrealisticjohnlockfanart.tumblr.com/archive).


End file.
